


Tacet

by GoldenDaydreams



Series: Find Someone To Carry You [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier | Dandelion are Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parents, Minor Injuries, Soft Feels, Subtle Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: If there is something that Geralt knows, it's that silence is a bad thing.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Find Someone To Carry You [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827439
Comments: 12
Kudos: 118





	Tacet

The tiny settlement nestled in a forest near a lake had a big problem with sirens. They’d begged the witcher for assistance. Even upped the reward from the notice board, added in a hot meal for him and his companions, a bath, and the empty little cottage to stay in until the contract was complete. 

If circumstances were different, Geralt would take the job offer in a heartbeat. Sirens were a pain in the ass to kill, and the reward was more than worth the trouble, but it would delay their journey to Kaer Morhen. More troubling, he’d have to leave Jaskier and Ciri alone at the settlement. He glanced to his companions. Their savings were meager but perhaps enough to get them to the mountain. Ciri looked exhausted, and with the colder weather, she’d probably appreciate a warm cabin with a real bed. Jaskier wore the expression of a man who’d kill him in his sleep if he turned this down. 

“It’s a fair enough price. I’ll get started in the morning.” 

“Oh, excellent,” Jonah said, and the other villagers behind him seemed to experience a collective sigh of relief. “We can’t thank you enough, Witcher! Basia, show our guests to the cabin.” 

A middle-aged woman stepped forward, and motioned them to follow. The cabin sat in the trees as if the entire forest had grown around it. Basia opened the door for them, but kept her eyes on the ground. “Is it suitable, Master Witcher?” 

“It’s fine,” Geralt replied, removing his swords. 

“Yes, it’s glorious after so long spent on the road. You haven’t the slightest idea of how wonderful it is to have a roof overhead, and a proper bed, it’ll do us a world of good,” Jaskier sat down on a bench, and looked to the door. “Than—oh, she’s gone. Well, she’s an odd one, isn’t she?” 

The only oddity for Geralt was how friendly the villagers were. Then again, if he didn’t help them now, they could be waiting years before another Witcher wandered through. After all, Geralt was leading them in such a way they avoided the more common stops, trying to keep their heads down and far from Nilfgaard’s forces. 

Geralt cast igni, pleased that there was already wood set in the fireplace. Ciri yawned wide, but took off her cloak and hung it over a chair that she dragged close to the flames. Jaskier pulled off his boots, and then his socks. Geralt squinted at the heavy weight of the wool. “I told you to change them if they got wet.” 

Jaskier sighed. “They’re all wet, how many pairs do you think I own?” From his pack he pulled out all of his gear since much of it had been laying with his wet socks. “No matter, it’ll dry by morning, and be as good as new!” 

The villagers brought in buckets of heated water until the bath was full. A couple of women brought in a large pot of stew, the other two loafs of bread. None of them hung around longer than necessary, even when Jaskier tried to strike up a conversation. 

A quiet settled upon the cabin once everyone had gone, and the three of them started to dig into the meal. Geralt could endure hunger, last longer than a normal human, and he worried about the way Ciri and Jaskier both ate as though they’d been starving for weeks. Usually Jaskier would maintain a conversation between bites, but if he wasn’t shoveling stew into his mouth, he was stuffing it with bread. 

After dinner, the two men went and sat outside to give Ciri the privacy of the bath that sat near the fireplace in the main room. Snowflakes lazily drifted down. Jaskier tipped his head back, and stuck out his tongue to catch them. 

Geralt didn’t understand why Jaskier did it, but by the way Jaskier smiled and appeared lighter it brought him joy, and that was all that mattered. Jaskier turned to him, still wearing that smile. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

He could hear Ciri splashing a bit as she bathed, the indistinct chatter coming from the village proper, the wind bending the trees. The snow might be a problem in the morning, and in the coming days. The cloud cover assured that the stars and moon were blanketed from their vision. Jaskier must have seen something Geralt couldn’t with his foolish poet’s heart. “I suppose.” 

Jaskier pushed him with his shoulder, and Geralt moved with it rather than push against it. He liked that Jaskier felt comfortable with him again, comfortable in his space, comfortable enough to be playful, and speak without trepidation. 

“How far are we from the Blue Mountains?” 

“At least a week of travel,” Geralt replied. “Might be longer if the snow keeps up.” 

Jaskier cupped his hands and blew into them. “Well, at least we have the cabin for the night.” 

Geralt had wanted to make better time, but there was nothing that could be done now, it was out of his hands. They would be losing at least the next day for the hunt, but he hoped they could make up the time with Roach well rested. 

He could hear Ciri moving around inside the cabin, tracking her steps to the bedroom and then her return trip to the door. She poked her head out. “All done. I’m going to sleep.” 

“Good night, Princess,” Jaskier said. 

“Good night,” she said to them, closing the door once more. 

“You should go next,” Geralt said. 

“You sure?”

Geralt cast a pointed look down at his filthy armor. “Yes.” 

Jaskier left him then, and Geralt listened to the sound of the bard’s clothes hitting the floor, the sloshing of water against the sides as he sunk in, the sigh that came after he’d settled. A gust of wind came through the trees, and he could see the light of a large fire through the trees. 

Too early for Yuletide. It didn’t matter. He left them to their customs. They wouldn’t remain here long. The biting cold became uncomfortable and he walked back inside. He and Jaskier had travelled together for so long that the concept of privacy was foreign, and unrealistic. Jaskier was clean, but still in the tub, his head lulled back, eyes blinking slow. It was rare to see him so still, so quiet, so relaxed. 

Geralt hated to make him move, stared a little longer than he should at the soft glow of firelight making the water on his body seem to glitter. He grabbed a towel from where it was hanging near the flames. “Get out before you drown.” 

Jaskier wiped his wet hand down his face, leaving his face glistening. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s your turn.” He muttered some thanks for the towel as he rubbed himself dry, and went through his things for the cleanest options. By the time he was dressed, Geralt had stripped down and stepped into the lukewarm water. Jaskier yawned so wide, Geralt heard his jaw pop. “Need someone to—” he rubbed at his one eye with the heel of his palm, “—wash your hair?” 

It warmed him that Jaskier would ask, even while so exhausted. “I’ll manage. Get some sleep.” 

Jaskier bid him goodnight, and pushed aside the curtains of hanging dried orange slices that separated the rooms. 

Usually, Geralt took the time to enjoy the simple pleasure of a hot bath, but the water was already going cold, and he’d much rather enjoy sleeping in bed for a change. His skin rubbed raw, but clean, he dried and dressed, checked the fire once more before joining his companions in the bedroom. 

Ciri was curled up on a smaller cot, and he bent down to pull the blanket up over her shoulder, she nuzzled her pillow in her sleep. Thankful that this seemed to be a night without terrors, he left her before his presence could wake her. Jaskier was predictably sprawled out on his stomach. All three beds were rather small, but after the week they’d had, it was luxurious. 

He fell asleep easily to the steady, even breaths from Ciri, and the occasional muttered nonsense from Jaskier. 

In the morning, he readied himself for a fight, left his two companions in the cabin with a well built fire. Ciri had nervous, restless energy as she said her goodbyes. Jaskier stood behind her, gave a sharp nod. There was a time when he would have insisted about coming along, to see Geralt fight in person, to be able to immortalize the event in a song. Now, Jaskier had an even more important task he was being left with, and although they didn’t speak of it, it hung between them. Geralt was entrusting Jaskier with Ciri’s safety, a job neither given nor taken lightly. 

Snow covered the paths, but he knew the general direction he needed to go. He listened for the shrieks, but heard none as he walked through the dense trees. He heard the gentle waves lapping at the shore in the distance. At the treeline he paused, and looked out at the water, the patches of ice, and nearly knee-high snow that would be a bitch to fight in. 

The treeline to the water left all too much unprotected space in which the sirens could swoop down, and attack. He glared out at the space, listening for anything while he covered his silver blade in hybrid oil. From how the villagers were going on, the sirens were a _problem_. And yet… 

Geralt lit a grapeshot and chucked it out into the middle of the snow, waited the few seconds it took for it to go off, blasting snow everywhere and leaving a small crater in the ground. The snow settled, and still, no sound but the trees swaying in the breeze, and waves against the shore. 

His heart leapt to his throat with the realization that he’d been set up. Jaskier and Ciri were alone, unprotected in that cabin. 

And then there was screaming, the kind that Geralt felt in his soul, too loud to be normal. The winter birds all took flight, fleeing in primal fear. 

Geralt’s stomach dropped, and his heart pounded. _Ciri._ He rarely felt fear for himself anymore, but for that little girl, his child surprise, it sliced through him faster than any blade could. 

He moved through the trees, slowed considerably by the snowdrifts. Part of him wished that she would scream again, to let him know she was still alive, still okay, still fighting. And what of Jaskier? While his bard was no fighter, he was also not the fool most saw him as, and he was brave. So stupidly, foolishly brave. To have reached Ciri, they would have had to go through Jaskier. 

His stomach lurched. He should never have left them alone. 

In the distance he saw the cabin. Or, more accurately, what was left of it. The structure was in shambles. The tree nearby looked like it had been struck by lightning, the top half fallen into the snow, a man’s body pierced by the jagged edges of the trunk. 

As he ran closer, the villagers ran away. He ignored them, looking, searching. In the center of the damage laid Ciri. Her blonde hair a halo, otherworldly and still. He fell to his knees next to her, seeking out any injury, but her breath was steady in her unconsciousness. She didn’t have her cloak on. There were drag marks from the door in the snow, other prints, they hadn’t left on their own terms. 

He caught the scent of blood. Jaskier. 

A man was skewered by the fence post. He rose slowly, approaching the body. _Not Jaskier._ Relief so pure left his fingers tingling. Jaskier couldn’t be far, he wouldn’t have left Ciri alone. He found another body in the snow, a woman who’s chest seemed to have caved in, his concern for Jaskier became panic. 

He followed his nose, tracking the lemongrass and parchment—and blood Geralt wished he didn’t know the scent of. He found Jaskier sprawled and half buried in the heavy snow drifts under an evergreen tree. He knelt down, casting a glance over his shoulder, ensuring Ciri was still and safe. 

His attention shifted back to Jaskier, upon a cursory glance, he didn’t see any blood. Like Ciri, he wasn’t dressed for the cold, shirt far too light for such weather. Geralt pinched the leather of his glove between his teeth, yanked it off. He cupped Jaskier’s cheek, the flesh warm and soft. Gently, he turned Jaskier’s head, cradling the other side of his face with the gloved hand to keep him protected from any more snow. 

He ran his fingers through Jaskier’s thick hair, found sticky warmth. “Fuck.” 

Jaskier groaned, his eyes shifting under his lids before they fluttered open, squinting into the morning light. “Geralt? What—where?” He groaned. “My head?” He shook off a snow covered hand to slip his finger between Geralt’s on the back of his head, his hand was so cold. “Is that—is that blood?” 

Geralt’s frowned, which apparently said enough, since Jaskier went a little limp, blood coated fingers a stark contrast to the snow. 

“Ciri!” He shoved at Geralt in his attempts to sit up, and Geralt helped him before he could hurt himself. “Melitele,” he whispered. “Is she—”

“Steady pulse,” Geralt said, pushing Jaskier forward a bit so he could better inspect the head wound. He prodded at the flesh, guilt rising as Jaskier hissed out a breath. “It doesn’t look too deep. Do you think you can stand?” 

“She screamed. It was—” he ran his hands over his face, unintentionally smearing blood down the left side, “—fuck Geralt, it was like Pavetta all over again.” 

“We’ll worry about it once we get out of here,” Geralt said. He didn’t want to spend any more time at this outpost than necessary. He grabbed Jaskier’s arm, kept him steady as he stood, rocking a bit in his stance. 

The two of them made their way back to Ciri. She looked like she’d just fallen asleep. Gently, he picked her up, cradled her small body to his chest, and hoped it would warm her up. Jaskier managed to walk along side him even if he staggered like he’d had too much to drink, every so often touching Geralt’s arm to steady himself as they walked toward the stables. 

There were two men standing outside of the structure, poorly made swords in hand. “Y-you’re not leaving,” the one said. Poor bastard didn’t even have the grip on his weapon right. 

“Short version,” Geralt muttered to Jaskier, not taking his eyes off the men.

“They tried to kill us.” 

“Hold Ciri,” Geralt said, passing off the bundle, hoping Jaskier had enough balance to keep her safe. He drew his sword, took three steps forward before the two men took off running. Geralt watched, waited, expected reinforcements, but they didn’t return. He entered the stables, readied Roach in record time, and led her out to where Jaskier stood in the snow, shivering. 

“We’re going to salvage what we can from the cabin, then we are going to put this place behind us. Tonight, you’re going to tell me everything.” 

“Okay,” Jaskier said, surprising Geralt with the quiet, nothing but the steady puffs of breath that hung in the air. Jaskier didn’t launch into the story, didn’t prattle on with embellishments—that more than anything told Geralt just how wrong the day had gone. 

He took Ciri back into his arms, did what he could to keep Jaskier steady as he mounted Roach, and then between the two of them, they managed to get Ciri settled, her body leaning heavily against Jaskier. Geralt led Roach back toward the remains of the cabin, a case of ‘if it looks too good to be true, than it probably is.’ 

Maybe he would have been able to locate more of their things had he stuck around longer, but getting his companions far from the village took priority. He passed Jaskier his cloak, hooked a couple of packs and Jaskier’s lute to Roach. 

He took one last look at the destruction that had been left in Ciri’s wake, and knew he would have to find Yennefer. She was the only sorceress he trusted, but he hadn’t seen her since the mountain. He could only hope that she would be as forgiving as Jaskier. 

°°°

The brutal wind cut to the bone, and made Geralt seek shelter before he would have liked. If the wind affected him, he could only imagine the discomfort of his companions. Jaskier had his arms around Ciri, holding her to his chest, his cloak around them both, cheeks a ruddy red from the biting cold. 

The cave Geralt found wasn’t deep, but it would block the wind, and that was all that mattered. Ciri woke as she was maneuvered from Roach, she startled, fought but settled when she looked Geralt in the eyes. Her eyes shifted wildly around the area, pausing on Jaskier. “They—they were going to—”

“It’s alright, they didn’t.” Jaskier dismounted, and leaned on Roach. 

Geralt lowered Ciri’s legs, and she stood on her own. “You two go sit in the cave, try to keep warm. I’ll collect some firewood, and see if I can’t find something to eat.” 

It took a couple of hours, but the fire roared, a pile of wood for later was stacked, a couple of rabbits and one squirrel that probably wasn’t worth the effort of skinning, were cooking. His companions looked so frail. Jaskier only seemed to have colour to his skin because of the windburn on his cheeks. Ciri shivered, and looked ready to cry at a moments notice. 

He made sure they both ate, eying them, nudging Jaskier’s boot with his own when the bard only picked at the meat. 

The quiet extended until Geralt, of all people, broke it. “So, what happened?” 

“She had a knife,” Ciri blurted. “She brought us food but she just—” her lip trembled, and she took deep breaths. 

Jaskier patted her shoulder. “You left, off to slay the sirens, a while after that a woman came to deliver lunch. Had a whole roast, looked fantastic,” he said rather mournfully. “I didn’t think—Geralt, I’m sorry—” Jaskier’s voice broke, and he turned away to stare into the fire. “The woman held a knife to Ciri’s throat. A couple of men walked in—” 

“She told me to keep quiet, to stay still and I’d be released,” Ciri sniffled, her every breath measured. “They said they wanted _the Bard_.” 

Geralt waited for a joke, for Jaskier to make light of it, to say ‘well of course they did, who doesn’t?’ 

“They wanted to sacrifice me to a god,” Jaskier said, eyes never leaving the fire. “Every childbirth at that outpost ended in stillborn. They wanted to make a sacrifice to a fertility god.” 

“They were dragging him out the back door, out to the gardens,” Ciri said, turning, holding onto Geralt’s arm, her big blue eyes staring up at him. “They were going to, they would have killed him, and I couldn’t do anything but—” 

She looked down, but Geralt tapped her chin. “You screamed.” 

“Did I… did I kill people? I did last time.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“You protected Jaskier,” Geralt said. “You protected yourself. I am proud of you.” 

By the confused little furrow of her brow, that hadn’t been the response she’d been expecting. She nodded, and nuzzled against him, leeching his warmth. He held her close, and looked over her head at Jaskier, who had his head in his hands. 

Geralt didn’t know what to say to make it better, the silence held the moment in it’s claws. The three of them all in a row near the fire. Ciri went limp in sleep, safe between the two men who sat beside her. 

°°°

It took some maneuvering, but Jaskier spread out the two bedrolls they had, and Geralt got Ciri settled on her side, cloak around her body, blankets over top. 

“I thought she would be safe with me,” Jaskier whispered, firelight the only thing barely lighting his face. “The village seemed friendly enough, usually there isn’t a situation I can’t talk myself out of, or run from. Things are so different when I must consider someone else. And they weren’t friendly, they were lying, they were—I didn’t see it coming. I believed they were being nice.”

“I believed them too,” Geralt admitted. He hadn’t noticed the lies, hadn’t been looking for them. He’d been tired, worried for his companions, the thought of a warm meal, shelter, and a bath was too good to pass up. That had been their downfall. “I should have known better.” He was, after all, the Butcher of Blaviken, people just weren’t _that_ nice, not even when they needed something. 

“Will you teach me to use a weapon?” 

Geralt stared at Jaskier, at the determination in his eyes, the stubborn set of his lips. 

“I don’t want to be that powerless again. I was supposed to keep her safe, Geralt, and I failed you. I failed her.” 

“I’ll teach you, but this wasn’t your fault.” 

“Nice of you to say, but it was,” he muttered. 

Geralt didn’t know how to make Jaskier understand that sometimes, you were just outmatched. He didn’t think making Jaskier understand would make him feel any better anyway. “You should get some sleep, keep her warm. I’ll keep watch.” 

Jaskier nodded, removing his cloak before he wriggled under the blankets, and then laid the cloak over the both of them. “Geralt?” 

“Yes?” 

“What are we going to do about Ciri’s power?” 

Geralt sighed. “I’m going to have to seek out Yennefer.” 

Jaskier’s expression soured at the mention. “Now?” 

“In the spring, if we don’t get up the mountain soon, we won’t.” He hated the thought of being stuck down in the little settlements, doing odd jobs to keep them in a room for the winter. 

No more delays, he wanted them secure inside the walls of Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier looked like he wanted to say something else, but as with the rest of the day, the quiet held strong. 


End file.
